Schroeder’s Piano
by Wack'd
Summary: Back – by popular demand! Sorry for the lack of recent updates. I won’t bore you with the details.
1. Chapter 1

**Schroeder's Piano**

Schroeder was hutched over his toy piano, playing frantically. Notes came spurring out of the plaything faster than a top-speed racecar during a downhill race.

In truth, he was practicing for the school's talent show. Who wouldn't be impressed by an eight-year-old churning Beethoven out of a seven-year-old toy piano?

In truth, there weren't many adults he could come across that he _couldn't_ impress. And recently, he had started writing his own compositions, just as well as Beethoven's. He was a prodigy, there was no doubt.

And even with the usual distractions of Lucy's love fantasies and Snoopy's messing with his piano, nothing could break his concentration. He had to practice to keep his skills as sharp as possible.

But one day, he came into his house distraught. Everybody was worried about him. His piano, lying in the middle of his room (as usual,) lay fingerprint-less. He did not play for weeks, not even to practice for his grand concert at the school talent show.

His teacher had ruined it for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the second chapter. Sorry it took so long, Enjoy!

_When Schroeder walked into the auditorium, toy piano under his arms, his teacher's smile stretched._

* * *

"_Well, Schroeder," she said. "You're here to try out for the school talent show?"_

"_Yes," Schroeder responded. "I'm going to be playing Beethoven's 1st on my piano."_

"_And is that it there?" the teacher asked, pointing to the toy under Schroeder's arms._

"_Why, yes," Schroeder said. "I've been playing it since I was a baby. Everyone says I'm quite impressive."_

"_But, how is this possible?" asked the teacher, confused. "It's a toy."_

"_Yes, but it has the musical range of a real piano," said Schroeder._

"_Schroeder…is it possible that you've been imaging things?" asked the teacher. _

"_No," said Schroeder. "All my friends hear it, too."_

"_Maybe…maybe they're trying to make you feel good. After all, look at that thing – the black keys are painted onto the white ones." The teacher concluded. "I do suggest taping into the real world, Schroeder. Toys don't make noise like that." The teacher rapped up: "Maybe you need to see a physiatrist, but it's not for me to say. Nonetheless, I will not allow a toy piano in my talent show!"_

_Schroeder walked out of the auditorium, dragging his beloved piano behind him._

* * *

As he lay in his bed, reliving that day, he realized there was one solution to his problem. 

It was downstairs, right next to his front door.

And it was waiting for him.

* * *

I won't take as long with the next chapter. I promise. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three is up (duh.) Here's what happened next:

* * *

A real piano.

Charlie Brown, arguably his closest friend, had once tried one out on him, when he was a baby. However, its large size scared him, and he refused to play.

But now it seemed to be the only answer. If his teacher wouldn't let him play his toy piano for the school talent show, she would probably allow a real one.

_Besides,_ Schroeder thought, _twenty years from now, when I'm a rich and famous pianist, it'll look sort of silly for me to still play a toy piano, no matter how real it sounds._

And so he sat at the real piano. The large, grand pianoforte seemed so intimidating, so huge, that he almost chickened out.

_I need to do this._

Beethoven's First.

_This is my show, not that toy piano's._

He played. And played. Soon, he had finished the practice.

_That wasn't so bad. Beethoven would be proud._

And so would his friends and family when he won that talent show.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it. The story's not over yet!


	4. Chapter 4

Back – by popular demand!

Sorry for the lack of recent updates. I won't bore you with the details.

* * *

Schroeder took a long, deep breath. Tonight was the night.

He had practiced, nonstop, for the next three days. He had somehow persuaded his parents to serve him at the piano, and only ate what was easily accessible while his fingers flew across the keys; and only drank what could be slurped through a straw. He slept at the piano, and during the night played his Beethoven record nonstop so that the music could be memorized while he slept. He had to keep practicing, he just _had_ to. But there was one problem he had overlooked.

Here and now, ten minutes before his performance, he realized for the first time how hungry and tired he was.

Fiona, who somehow always managed to get the job of introducing the talent when it came to this kind of thing, stepped out on stage and began reading from her index cards.

"Next tonight, we have Schroeder who will perform a piano piece for us – Bee-thoh-ven's –"

"It's _Bay-tove-in!_" Schroeder whispered through the curtain.

"I'm sorry – Bay-tove-in's First."

"None of this toy piano nonsense, I hope," the teacher remarked as Schroeder stepped onstage and Fiona walked off.

Schroeder walked across the stage and took a seat at the piano. He looked out at the large audience, and then back at the large keyboard. And, for the first time in his life, Schroeder felt nervous. That, combined with the hunger and tiredness, made him feel nauseous.

_Beethoven had it much worse,_ Schroeder reminded himself.

And so, he began to play. His fingers flew across the keyboard. No one had the time to wonder how the pages were being turned – he played so well, nobody noticed.

His finish was greeted with a rousing round of applause. Everyone had loved it.

And then, Schroeder passed out.

* * *

That's the end. You can all go home now. 


End file.
